How are we all? Sufficiently sexed I hope! Speaking of sex, I think it’s time to pick up where we left off. I had just ditched Shopping27 and things could only get better after that train wreck, right?
As it turned out, I had a few more disasters of a penile nature to live through.
Let’s meet Jack, shall we?
One fine night, at a particularly camp dress up party, I was doing the rounds with Will at our local gay bar attempting to snag him a snog. It was the usual man catcher routine; Willow would point someone out and attempt to catch his eye. If unsuccessful, it would be my turn to make contact. Being the queen of subtlety, I would saunter up to said lucky man, and without any hesitation, or tact for that matter, ask “So are you straight or gay?”
Smooth right? Anyway on this particular night luck was not with us, as every man I approached was straight (or at least claimed to be.) We put this down to the fact that a very famous very female porn star was appearing in about an hour.
Undeterred, we soldiered on, downing shots every time we were unsuccessful. It may have been the shots that drove me to make my next move.
With Willow waiting in the wings, trying not to get splashed by the furiously enthusiastic lube wrestling taking place nearby, I sashayed up to a lovely young man standing on his own. Because really, what type of straight guy comes to a gay bar alone?
Turns out this one.
His name was Jack, and he was a fire fighter just out of the army.
A man in uniform who could carry me out of a burning building? Oh dear, I think my panties just disintegrated, please take me now.
Jack was not gay, a fact that I couldn’t help but rejoice in, because lets face it, all the good one’s are either gay or married these days so it was a win for women everywhere, me in particular.
Full to the brim with shots, I gave him my best lopsided smile and drawled, “Sooo, you wanna make out?”
Did he ever.
A man who could carry you out of a burning building whilst making sweet sweet love to your mouth with his tongue? A rare man indeed.
Turns out Jack was at the bar to see the aforementioned porn star, hence affirming his heterosexual statement.
We got separated pretty quickly once she arrived and started swinging her boobs about the place, but not before I got fireman Sam’s phone number.
He messaged me that night asking if I wanted to “check out his place.” But I was determined not to ruin my chance with a fire fighter with a meaningless one night stand. Plus, I was still on a seemingly fruitless search for a man for Willow, and I was not giving up that easily.
Long story short, Willow got a hook–up, I got a phone number, and we both drank our body weight in tequila, so a good night all round.
Not such a great morning after though…bad kebab, ugh.
A day went by, and although a much younger and slightly fuzzier hook up from that night began to text me, still nothing from Jack.
I began to think he was just a figment of my wildly sexualised imagination; after all, the theme of the party was wet dreams. Maybe I had conjured up my very own fantasy man for a night.
The scariest part was I kept thinking what else I could have possibly been kissing if it wasn’t him. Nobody wants to be the girl who made out with a pool cue.
As luck would have it though, just as I was preparing to head out for a date I’d organised earlier in the week, who should text me but a certain delicious fireman?
As I was crimping and curling, his name flashed up on my screen with a cheeky little “Hello, how’s your weekend going?”
Bloody good now champ.
Of course, one needs to play it cool in these situations, so I counted to eighteen (my lucky number) before slowly penning my text back. Very breezy, very laid back, just a bit of the old “Not too shabby, and you?”
Nice. Very nice.
From there we had a flirty little conversation about where the rest of that drunken night took us. Very separate directions I might add, as I finished the night heading up my very own cheer squad in a corner as Willow stuck his tongue down some lucky guys throat.
One thing led to another and just before I jumped in the car to head to my date, Jack asked me if I was working Monday night, which luckily I wasn’t, and we agreed to meet up at seven o’clock at a bar in the city. It had to be a bar with food because apparently Jack got cranky when he didn’t eat. Very typical of the male species I must say.
After my date with, I came home, congratulated myself on surviving yet another date and scoring a saucy kiss on a Sunday, and set about making dinner. By six thirty I was in my pyjamas, parked on the couch with a man size bowl of ravioli, ready for some trashy TV and an early night.
That’s when I got the message.
“Where are you?”
It was Jack.
I had to laugh. He’d clearly done what I do so often and texted the wrong person.
“That wasn’t meant for me, was it?” I asked, adding a cheeky winky face for a bit of fun.
“Yes it was. I thought we were meeting at 7?”
Oh. Holy. Shitballs.
“I thought you said Monday?” I zipped back
“Who said anything about Monday?”
Urgh what a smartass! Especially because I realised he was right. He had asked what I was doing Monday, not if I wanted to catch up then. Stupid mixed messages!
I’ve honestly never moved so quickly in my life as I did that night. I fell into a dress, swiped on some foundation, slammed my shoes on and was in the car within twenty minutes.
Luckily for me Jack had ordered an incredibly large bowl of pasta and was busy ploughing his way through it when I arrived, so he definitely wasn’t feeling lonely.
We had a few drinks and many chats, with me regaling him of my time with Shopping27 after he asked about my recent sex life. Needless to say Jack was shocked at both Shopping27’s lack of sexual prowess and the graphic detail in which I told the story.
Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the heat buddy.
All round though it was a fun night. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy and he even bought me an ice cream after we left the bar.
This of course fueled my terribly overactive imagination again and I spent the remainder of the night picturing Jack covered in naughty naughty chocolate syrup that simply had to be licked off by yours truly.
We arranged to meet up for another date, dinner at his place. I eagerly accepted and prayed to God there was ice cream in his freezer.
If I had known just how disastrous that date was to be, you couldn’t have dragged me there with six strawberry coated strippers.
Ok physically maybe, but mentally I’d totally be resisting.
Tune in next time to witness my continuing terrible dating streak!
Pickup line of the week: How do you like your eggs? I prefer mine fertilised!